The Alpha I was Forced to Betray

Chapter 2 - Isla

The next day came too quickly.

I didn’t sleep much.

Every time I closed my eyes, my mind dragged me back to things I had spent years trying to bury—faces I hadn’t allowed myself to remember, moments I had replayed too many times, choices that refused to fade no matter how far I had run from them. It didn’t matter how much distance I put between myself and this place. Some things didn’t stay behind. They followed.

By the time morning came, exhaustion had settled deep into my bones, heavy and unrelenting, but it didn’t matter. Today wasn’t about me. It never was.

I got dressed slowly, deliberately choosing something simple—something that wouldn’t draw attention. Neutral. Forgettable. The kind of outfit that would let me exist on the edges without being seen. The last thing I wanted was to stand out. The last thing I wanted was to be noticed.

Deep down, I knew how pointless that was.

This place had never been good at letting me disappear.

The walk to the cemetery felt longer than it should have, every step weighed down by something I didn’t need to name to understand. The closer I got, the tighter my chest became, like my body already knew what was waiting for me before I could see it.

Voices reached me first—low murmurs, quiet conversations, the kind people use when they’re trying to be respectful, when grief sits just beneath the surface but hasn’t quite broken through.

By the time I stepped into view, people were already gathered.

Pack members.

Familiar faces.

Faces that hadn’t changed nearly as much as I had hoped they would.

Faces that recognized me.

The shift was immediate. Subtle enough that no one could call attention to it—but undeniable all the same. Conversations dipped. Eyes lingered. Not openly. Not cruelly. But long enough.

They remembered.

Of course they did.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

The voice came from my left. I turned slightly, offering a small nod, keeping my expression carefully neutral. “Thank you.”

More voices followed. More condolences. Each one polite. Measured. Controlled. No one said anything about the past.

They didn’t need to.

It was already there—woven into every glance, sitting between every word, pressing into every silence. Heavy. Unspoken. Impossible to ignore.

I moved through it the only way I knew how—quiet, contained, careful not to linger anywhere too long, careful not to meet anyone’s gaze for more than a second. If I didn’t give them anything, maybe they wouldn’t ask. If I stayed small enough, maybe I could get through this without everything unraveling.

The service began, and I stood where I was told, listening without really hearing. Words were spoken—about life, about loss, about memory—but none of it stayed with me long enough to matter.

Because even without looking, I felt it.

A presence. Heavy. Commanding. Unavoidable.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up, going completely still as something cold and sharp slid down my spine.

No.

Please don’t—

Slowly, like I could delay the inevitable if I moved carefully enough, I lifted my gaze.

And there he was.

Nico Thorn.

Everything else fell away—the voices, the people, the weight of the ceremony—none of it mattered the second I saw him.

He wasn’t the same.

The boy I remembered was gone, replaced by something sharper, harder. He stood taller now, broader, his frame built with the kind of strength that didn’t need to be shown off to be understood. Muscle pulled tight beneath dark clothing, his posture relaxed in a way that wasn’t careless but controlled—intentional, like he knew exactly what he was capable of and saw no reason to prove it.

Power clung to him.

In the way people kept their distance without being told. In the subtle shift of space around him, like no one dared step too close.

Alpha.

He was never supposed to be that.

That future had belonged to his brother.

My throat tightened painfully at the thought, the memory pressing in before I could stop it, before I could push it back where it belonged.

Then his eyes met mine.

Everything inside me stopped.

It hit without warning—sharp and violent, a pull snapping into place between us so suddenly it stole the air from my lungs. It felt like something had been waiting, something unseen and undeniable, just for this moment.

My breath caught, shallow and unsteady, as the feeling spread through me, wrapping tight around something deep in my chest and pulling inward until it was impossible to ignore.

Impossible to fight.

His expression didn’t change.

But I saw it.

The exact moment he felt it too.

It flickered there—brief, controlled, almost imperceptible—before it disappeared beneath that same cold, unshakable composure.

And just like that, everything got worse.

Because whatever this was, whatever had just snapped into place between us, it didn’t erase the past. It didn’t undo what I had done. It didn’t soften the truth of what stood between us.

If anything, it made it worse.

Because the last time Nico Thorn looked at me, I had destroyed his life.

And now—

I was his mate.